To Torture A Lover
by Trickster-Prophet
Summary: After narrowly surviving seven angry Demons, Bobby is left fighting for his life against an ancient Demonic poison. With no other choice, he is forced to turn to those around him for help. But time is fast running out. With the situation fast approaching critical, and with everything falling down around them; is there any guarantee that anyone will make it out alive?


**A/N: This fic was originally written for Camp NaNo WriMo in April 2013, but once I finished it I had a whole lot of new ideas and decided that I wanted to take the story in a totally different direction. The original piece will be posted to this account as "At the Fork in the Road" because I know there are people who enjoyed it and maybe someone else wants to read it or something. This is the new version, the hopefully better version, with more words, more drama and possibly even more romance (but no smut because every time I try and write *those scenes* I get flustered and have to go make a cup of tea).**

**Updates will occur shortly (I hope).**

* * *

He was out of time. Standing at the fork in the road, discarded shotgun at his feet, Holy Water in one hand and a long-bladed hunting knife in the other, Bobby Singer knew he was more than out of time; he was out of luck as well. The Demons that he had been hunting now stood around him in a loose circle, shifting slightly in place, their body-language screaming that they were confidant of a kill, and soon. He was outnumbered, and hopelessly out classed, with nowhere to run, and no choice but to turn and fight. He wasn't entirely sure he liked the idea of dying, but if the universe or whatever wasn't giving him a choice, at least he could choose to go down fighting.  
Above the little standoff, the previously blue sky was going dark, the clouds that were blowing in were a menacing shade of grey, smothering the sun and turning mid-afternoon into the imitation of dusk. A jagged crack of lighting cut through the dimness for a moment, drawing back the false daylight for a second to once more paint the scene in stark clarity.  
One of the Demons – inhabiting the body of a strikingly attractive woman – snarled at him, perhaps trying to intimidate him. Bobby almost laughed: there was no way a tactic as futile as that would intimidate him. Things like that had lost their effect on him years ago.  
"What're you waitin' for then?" Bobby snarled back at the Demon, shifting his grip in the worn handle of the knife, so that the familiar weapon sat a little more comfortably in his hand, and sloshing the bottle of Holy Water threateningly. The Demons around the circle glanced at one another and turned back to him, the threat clear in their eyes. Whatever. He'd known he wasn't getting out of here alive for the last several minutes.  
Bobby glanced around the circle quickly. There were seven Demons in total, eyes all black and regarding him like he was something to eat. Which, to them, he probably was. He knew that if he had had backup, a younger Hunter with more weapons perhaps, he would have stood a chance of making it out alive. But armed as he was, and already exhausted from fighting; he knew he didn't stand a chance. Even if he did manage to take out two of the demons, three even, there were more behind them, and he knew it was hopeless. If he wasn't so damned proud, he would have surrendered then and there.  
Something other than his own pride, however, kept him from dropping his weapons and giving up the fight. Something that he had been thinking of more and more recently, and it was returning to bother him now. That something was a face. He could imagine that face now, smirking at him from over a glass of Scotch, or perhaps glaring across the room at some unknown nuisance, or once, just once, smiling a tiny smile at his grumblings. Bobby could imagine all too accurately what the face's owner would have said if he had been present at the scene.  
"Giving up so soon?" asked a startlingly familiar voice from behind him.  
Bobby spun around, bringing his knife up just in case it was a Demonic trick – he wouldn't put it past them – but lowered the weapon when he saw who it was.  
Standing behind him, dark suit in perfect order, not even looking slightly out of place, was Crowley, self-proclaimed king of both Hell and the Crossroads, and the occasional bane of Bobby's sanity. The Demon's arms were folded and he looked, if Bobby were to be entirely truthful, rather put out. He glared at the Demons, and Bobby was unsurprised to see his eyes undertake the change to the deep red that belied Crowley's status above the other Demons.  
"I recall telling the lot of you," Crowley said, sounding almost bored with an undernote of cold malice to his voice, making no mistake as to who should be afraid of whom, "There are certain humans who are off limits. No-one's forgotten, have they?"  
The Demons visibly moved back from Crowley, some of them flinching, clearly very afraid, and none of them daring to look up from the ground or make eye contact.  
"Didn't think so." Crowley nodded, seemingly pleased the job was done, "Now get out of my sight." He turned away, a set to his shoulders indicating that he expected to be followed, and started to stalk away in the opposite direction. He, therefore, wasn't looking when what happened next happened.  
Bobby, his gaze following Crowley as he turned to walk away, was momentarily distracted from the circle of Demons. Not that that should have been a problem, since he believed that the Demons had all been terrified by Crowley, but unfortunately, there was one Demon who had less brains than a duck, and clearly wanted to have a go at finishing the job.  
This Demon drew a knife with a long, wickedly thin blade from his belt, and raised it, silent and threatening. Bobby still had his back turned, gathering up his shotgun from the ground, preparing to leave, and he only just saw the Demon's strike towards him from the corner of his eye.,  
Bobby brought his own knife up, catching the strike lower on his own blade than he would have liked, but still high enough that it didn't follow its intended route, which was into his chest cavity via the gap between neck and collarbone. If it had been allowed to keep that course, Bobby noted, in some remote corner of his mind that was strangely detached from the situation at hand, the blade would not only have probably punctured a lung, but also lodged in his heart. Charming, as Crowley would probably say.  
This particular Demon seemed to have more than the usual share of trickery and evil, despite it's clear lack of common sense, and he flicked his blade around quickly, the sharp edge of the weapon scraping across the back of Bobby's right wrist, drawing blood. Bobby was momentarily surprised at the burn the wound carried with it; he knew from bitter experience that there was no way the wound was a regular knife-cut. But he'd have time to deal with that later. Right now he had more important concerns, like not being skewered by a skinny Demon with attitude problems.  
Bobby took a hurried step back from the Demon, moving away from the knife for a moment so that he could get a better aim, then he flicked his left wrist, sending a stream of Holy Water arcing out of the bottle he still carried, up into the air, hitting the Demon squarely in the face. The Demon screamed and sizzled, dropping his knife and falling to his knees, clawing blindly at his face. Smoke started to rise from his skin, and all the while he screamed, a sound of pure agony.  
Bobby turned away from the screaming Demon. Calmly, and perhaps with a slightly vengeful glow inside, he began to recite an exorcism ritual, the familiar words falling from his lips without trouble or mercy, sending the Demon all the way back downstairs to Hell.  
As the empty, dead body fell limply onto the ground, Bobby turned back towards Crowley, who stood with his arms folded, smirking lightly at the scene in front of him.  
"Thanks for the help." Bobby grumbled, sliding his knife back into its sheath and picking up his shotgun.  
"You hardly needed it." Crowley noted coolly, glancing up at the sky, as if noting the weather. As the first drops of rain fell, he unfurled an umbrella that Bobby was sure hadn't been there before above his head and raised an eyebrow at Bobby. "Are you going to stand there all night?" He asked a little jadedly.  
Ignoring the Demon – he could wait or leave, it was up to him – Bobby pulled back the bloodied sleeve of his shirt to reveal the damage done by the other Demon. The gash was deep, but seemed to be impressively clean for something that had burned so much initially. Confused at he was about it, Bobby knew that there was nothing he could do about the injury until he was at home with the appropriate medical supplies.  
"Are you coming?" Crowley's voice, louder now, not even bothering to disguise the irritation that was plainly there, cut into his thoughts. Bobby looked up at the Demon on confusion. The aforementioned Demon just shrugged his shoulders and set off down the road towards where Bobby had parked his car. Seeing no other choice, Bobby began to follow him, staying safely out of range of Crowley umbrella, which was big and black.  
They walked a few paces like that, Crowley under his umbrella and Bobby out in the rain, before the Demon king fixed his with an exasperated stare.  
"Are you trying to freeze to death?" Crowley asked him, still looking and sounded peeved, "Get under here."  
Bobby gave the umbrella a last, deeply suspicious look, which prompted a sigh from Crowley, and ducked underneath it, staying right at the edge, allowing his left shoulder to get wet in the rain. Crowley didn't even bother with a sigh or an exasperated look this time, he just reached out, grabbed Bobby's belt and dragged him all of the way under the umbrella and out of the now torrential downpour. If his hand lingered there for just a second, well, that wasn't anyone's business but his, clearly.  
They walked back down the room in silence, Bobby fixedly refusing to look at the Demon at his side. After a moment, Crowley asked,  
"Why didn't you just summon me?"  
"Yeah, because I had the time for a summoning ritual." Bobby rolled his eyes at the Demon, really not in the mood to deal with him. Yes, Crowley had saved his life, but Bobby just knew he was going to be a pain about it. "Y'know, while I was being attacked."  
"Shouting would have worked." Crowley muttered distinctly crossly, starting to walk a little faster.  
Bobby stopped walking for a moment, confused. Was Crowley actually admitting that he would have listened to him? He must have been imagining things. He shrugged and continued walking before Crowley left him standing there on the road by himself. He followed Crowley back towards where he's parked his car earlier that day, about half a mile down there road.

When they reached the car, Bobby made a move for the driver's door, but Crowley stood in his way and gave him a hard look, one eyebrow slightly raised.  
"You gonna move?" Bobby griped at him, glaring. He was cold, damp, in a considerable amount of pain and dead set on going home, dressing his injuries and passing out for a few hours. Crowley's antics were not helping.  
"Doubtful." Crowley admitted, holding out one hand, "Keys. I don't exactly trust you behind the wheel right now."  
Bobby grumbled and pulled the keys out of his pocket, not bothering to tell Crowley which one was the key to this car. It didn't seem to matter however, Crowley found the correct key without trying any of the others, and he had the engine running by the time Bobby was around the other side of the vehicle.  
Crowley drove in silence, but Bobby was surprised to see that he, Crowley, despite being a Demon who probably didn't get much chance to drive, had remarkable control of the car. The only thing he said on the whole drive however was a complaint that Bobby "Really shouldn't park in the hedge next time."  
To which he got no reaction other than grumbling.


End file.
